Fortune Favours The Bold
by Mardy Lass
Summary: Dean’s deal is due: it’s collection time. It’s time for belief, time for trust, time for goodbyes. But it’s never time for sacrifice. Can it really be time for Sam to let Dean go? SPOILERS to 3.12. Have faith in me for a good end!
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's Note:** _

_Never directly messed with Canon before. Hope it doesn't suck out loud. I don't normally do angst, and this is definitely the highest I'll ever go on the ol' Angst-ometer. (The next one is already turning out to be my usual fare.)_

_Comments are love, people._

* * *

**ONE**

"Sam, forget it!" Dean roared. "You ain't coming with me! It's bad enough that the bastards have me, without them watching you do your cryin' and gibbering wreck impression too!"

"You selfish bastard! You _selfish_ bastard!" Sam shouted back at him across the room. "Just cos you think you're some kind of hero, going there alone and meeting this thing!"

"You're damned right I'm a hero!" Dean shot back. "Last time I looked, I saved _your_ dead ass from the Pit!"

"You think I was going to Hell?" Sam fumed. "Well thanks for the faith in me!"

"Right, cos all this warring-on-demons thing isn't turning you into something you ain't?" Dean snapped. "I know how this works, Sam! Trust me on this – you were dead and I knew I would do anything – _any_thing – to get you back! And I did it! I knew it was dumb, I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway!"

"Dean—"

"Listen to me! I was convinced I'd never do what Dad did! I knew it would be stupid to throw everything away and make a deal, but I did it! I can't tell you what I was thinkin', cos I don't think I was. And that's exactly what's going to happen to you." He paused, trying to calm himself. But the thought of Sam going through the same rigmarole and starting this off all over again burned in his chest. "So don't be an idiot, Sam! They're expecting you to be there – they _want_ you to watch while I die! So that they can squeeze some kind of deal from you, too. And you're gonna just stand there and give them the satisfaction! You don't know it yet – but there'll be this tiny little moment when you realise you _think_ you can save me, and you'll snap their goddamned hands off to do it. And that's when they'll have you!"

"Oh yeah? You think I'll do exactly what you did?" Sam shouted, his anger refusing to lie down. "You think I'd be that stupid? You think I'd be as weak as you were?"

There was a stunned silence.

"Well, there we are," Dean said quietly, and Sam bit his lip desperately. "Yeah, I think you'd be as _weak_ as I was. After all, that's what us Winchesters are here for, right?" he breathed. "To be _weak_ for each other."

"That's not what I meant," Sam managed quietly, on a nervous swallow.

Another long silence. Sam avoided his gaze, but he could feel his brother's anger raking needles over his skin. He looked up slowly, meeting his eyes.

Dean let his shoulders sag abruptly.

"Like it matters," he sighed wearily.

"Of course it matters!" Sam exploded. "You're waiting around for her, for collection, tonight. _Tonight_, Dean!"

"Thanks, I got a watch."

"Is this really what you want to do before you leave? Before I – before we get separated?" he demanded.

Dean stared at him, but any anger he had left turned to resignation.

"No," he admitted.

"The last thing I did was argue with Dad. And then he died. I don't want to argue with you too," Sam said quietly.

"Before _I_ die?"

"Oh ye of little faith, Dean," he whispered.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked desperately, walking round the bed and up to his brother. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

Sam just glared at him guiltily. _Don't look at me with those pissed-off eyes,_ he thought suddenly. _Don't you do that. If you only knew what I've gone through to get ready for tonight._

"Sam!" Dean hissed, grabbing his shirt and shaking him once before pulling him toward him. "Sam! How many times! If you try and screw with this deal, if you even try and intervene when she gets here, you – are – going – to – die. Do you understand me? The deal gets undone, and you die. So don't you even think about it. _Don't you even think about it_!" he growled suddenly. "I did _not_ do this so you can throw it all away!"

"Like you did?" Sam managed. "You just threw away your life, Dean! On me! Why would you do that?"

"_Cos you were all I had!_" Dean raged. "And I was _not_ going to let you ditch on this family! You and me are all that's left!"

Sam stared at him, putting his hands up slowly and pulling his brother's from his shirt. He pushed him off with a slow sweep of his hands.

"And when you let yourself die? What then, Dean? Hmm? Who's left then?" he asked with biting sourness.

Dean took a step back, avoiding his younger brother's eyes.

"Dean. Trust me. I do not want to die," he said firmly. "But how am I supposed to just let _you_ die today, or tonight, or in fact _ever_—"

"Sam, just stop," he pleaded, backing away and sitting heavily on the bed behind him. "Just… stop. This is not what I wanted on my last day."

"Then what did you want?" Sam scoffed. "Ice cream?"

"I wanted you to just… just accept it and move on," Dean said, leaning forwards and putting his face in his hands. He dragged them over his weary skin slowly, and it was silent until he looked up at his brother again.

"You think this is it? It's over?" _Stop it! Don't give it away, Sam!_ He bit his lip deliberately.

"I think you did everything you could, smartass, but in the end their contracts are more water-tight than Jacque Cousteau's diving shorts," Dean snapped. "That could be why Hell's never short of people to make new demons out of."

Sam sighed.

"Fantastic. So today we'll go on as every other day. Let me see," he said suddenly, lifting a hand to count the fingers. "Argue like siblings, check." He tapped off fingers as he listed. "Get coffee and doughnuts, check. Tinker with the Impala, check. Be facetious in the face of certain death, check. Say goodbye to your only family left cos he's refusing to try and get out of his own death, check," he added harshly.

"Sammy, don't do this," he said gently. "Please? Just… Just stay here?"

"And do what, Dean? Count down till midnight? Stop myself from calling your phone every few minutes to see if you'll pick up after the clock strikes twelve?"

"Sammy _please_," he urged, his eyes turned up in anguish.

_Don't look at me like that, _Sam thought, stricken. He tried to hold onto his anger._ Have faith in your little brother. This time I'm playing with more than a full deck. I just hope one day you'll forgive me for what I'm about to do._

He took a deep breath.

"No, Dean. This is me not being the weak one. This is me telling you that I'm coming with you. This is me telling you that you have to trust me when I say I will _not_ make some stupid deal. Sacrifice is _not_ the way out."

"Little late for that."

"You _will_ let me come with you. You owe me that, after you did this to me," Sam said dangerously.

Dean stared at him, his eyes searching his for a long moment.

"What happened to you, man?" Dean breathed, standing up again. "Sometimes I don't even know you any more."

"Death happened to me," Sam retaliated.

"And what's it turning you into?" came Dean's retort.

"You know, I've thought about that," Sam smiled. It was not a nice smile, and something made the hair on the back of Dean's neck try to stand on end.

"And?"

"I'm the quiet one. I'm the small, ineffectual, useless one."

Dean stared for a long second. "What the hell?"

"I'm the quiet one. They'll never see me coming," he breathed darkly.

"Ok, you're scaring me now, Sammy. You're Al Pacino? '_Devil's Advocate_'? So you're the Devil now?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "No. They don't know us, Dean, they just _think_ they do. Just cos you watch Barry Bonds swing a million times doesn't mean you know how he's going to hit the next curveball."

Dean looked at the bed, thinking for a long moment. He looked up at Sam, his mind whirling.

"Something here is horribly, horribly wrong," he muttered, as if to himself.

"How do you figure?" Sam asked quietly, and Dean looked at him suspiciously. "You're scheduled to die tonight. What could go wrong with _that_? What's she gonna do, forget to come get you?"

"So we're agreed? You're not pulling any stupid last-minute stunts, and I'm going to feel guilty for eternity?" he snapped.

"Agreed," Sam said softly. _Stop looking at me like you can read my mind. Stop looking at me – stop looking at me,_ he pleaded silently as his brother stared at him. _Stop or I'll have to admit what I've been doing this week._

Dean let his gaze drop and he wet his lips nervously.

"Ok then," he said gingerly, and Sam almost let his shoulders sag in relief.

"I hope you know your '_yippee-kai-ey!_'s from your '_knockin' on heaven's door's_," he said unexpectedly.

Dean looked at him in confusion.

"Who _are_ you, and what have you done with Sam?" he joked, but his humour was suffering from lack of conviction.

Sam smiled.

It sent a chill down Dean's spine.

* * *

Dean let the Impala slide up slowly in the darkness, checking his watch quickly to see it showing four minutes to midnight.

"Here we are," Dean said quietly.

Sam looked around the murky wilderness slowly, nodding to himself.

"Remind me, why'd you want to come here?" Dean asked.

"Just cos," Sam said defensively. "Just cos."

"Whatever," Dean sighed. "Dude, just tell me one thing," he said quickly.

Sam looked at him from the passenger seat as his older sibling killed the engine and turned to look back at him.

"What?"

"That you'll look after the old girl," he said, patting the steering wheel affectionately. Sam snorted.

"You're giving me the family heirloom?" he scoffed flippantly. "_I'm_ not taking her home tonight."

Dean caught at his arm suddenly, yanking. Sam looked round at him. "What?"

"Sam. Tell me you're not planning anything."

Sam sighed, took a deep breath, and levelled Dean with a gaze that overflowed with innocence.

"I am not planning anything."

"Sam, I can't do this if I think you're about to try and pull some—"

"Alright! Enough! I'm not about to welsh on this deal in the last five minutes!" Sam shouted, exasperated.

Dean eyed him for a long moment, before Sam shook his arm off him. Dean huffed, opening his door and getting out. The door squeaked and Sam blew out a sigh, before swallowing a nervous lump in his throat the size of a football.

They had barely closed the doors before a dark shape emerged from the shadows.

"You two are hard to track down," said a warm voice, and they turned to see a rusty-haired lady in the requisite slinky dress walking toward them.

"Damn," Dean breathed appreciatively. "You ladies do dress the part, don't you?"

"Well I was warned about you, Mr Winchester," she replied, revealing perfect teeth beneath the achingly beautiful curved smile.

"Mmm," Dean managed. Sam cleared his throat nervously. Dean looked at him. "Don't sweat it," he said indignantly. "It's not going to change anything."

"Sammy. Aww," she cooed, looking over at him. "Come to say your last goodbye?"

"Something like that," he nodded. A small muscle in his face jumped slightly and she let her smile widen.

"Calm down," she soothed, putting her hands behind her back and watching them. "It's just nice that someone arrives on time as planned. I was wondering if I'd have to call out the hounds." She paused, studying their faces, and it was silent save the usual night noises. "So…"

"So," Dean said quietly.

"What time you got?" she asked politely.

Dean looked down at his wrist.

He gasped and choked as fingers gripped the underside of his chin like ice.

"I make it one after midnight," she whispered, leaning into his right ear.

_I never even saw her move,_ his mind commented in a detached way. He felt her breath against his cheek and it made his skin crawl.

"I've wanted to say this for a while now, Dean… Your ass is mine," she oozed.

"Um… not technically," Sam interrupted innocently.

She looked up from her appreciation of Dean's profile, finding Sam stood behind his brother's right shoulder.

"I thought you'd be shorter," she smiled.

"I thought you'd be able to read small print," Sam said politely.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Dean's supposed to die. He can't go to Hell alive, can he?" Sam supplied neatly.

The demon blinked suddenly black orbs as Dean struggled to speak, his own eyes rolling in anger at his brother.

"Ooh Dean, did you know your brother was going to sell you out like this?" she grinned maliciously.

He struggled to speak again, but her grip at the top of his windpipe was too strong.

"Too bad. Looks like Sammy is one of us after all."

"I had to do _some_thing to get in," Sam said quietly. Dean stopped struggling, instead closing his eyes.

"Oh Sam, you're breaking his heart," she said, her face sad to the extreme. "Poor, tortured Dean," she frowned, sliding her free hand over his face gently. "My poor soldier. You never even saw it coming, did you? Sam himself is going to stab you in the back, as they say."

Dean crushed his eyes shut, trying to block out the awful realisation of what was about to happen.

"Actually?" Sam growled abruptly. "This blade's for you, bitch."

There was a glint of metal. She gasped and let go of the older Winchester. He dropped to his knees, struggling to get some breath back to prevent himself from passing out.

Sam was stabbing forward. She snatched at the flash of silvery light so close to her face. She closed her fingers round the blade and held it firm.

Sam pushed and wrenched, but she simply put a palm out and slapped it into his chest.

He gave a grunt as he flew backwards. He rolled completely head-over-heels and landed in the grass. She gave a laugh, turning the blade round leisurely and getting a good grip on the handle.

"Nice try, Sam," she said, her voice like ice. "And a nice knife," she added, distracted. "Where did you get it?"

Sam scrambled to his feet, making for Dean. He stumbled in the grass and landed against his shoulder, both brothers sitting up and trying to get their heads together.

"But we've dragged this out long enough. Dean should have been down in Hell about… ooh, five minutes ago? We've got a warm seat reserved for him and everything," she grinned evilly.

"Take your best shot," Sam spat at her, against his panting for air, and she laughed.

"Oh I will," she breathed, advancing on the boys. She stopped, reached down, and grabbed at Dean's throat.

He was lifted up as if he didn't weigh nearly two hundred pounds, his feet sprawling uselessly in the grass as she kept him just off his knees.

She brought her hand back, the blade shining in the moonlight.

"The next voice you hear will be your own – screaming," she growled vehemently.

Dean couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. Suddenly the world dropped away, and all he could hear was the one thing he'd never hear again.

Sam's voice.

It was quiet, humble, hushed. He was gibbering, simply making random noises.

_Who can blame him?_ Dean thought suddenly. _If I weren't about to die anyway, I'd be shittin' maself too._

She laughed, drew in a deep breath, and stabbed the blade up.

Sam lunged suddenly, throwing himself into Dean's back.

He was driven forwards. Onto the knife.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

The demon laughed in victory. She felt resistance against the blade trying to stab straight into Dean. She leaned her weight on the handle of the knife.

Sam pushed on Dean's back, harder and harder.

She felt something solid pushing against the blade. She growled and pushed harder.

A tiny click. A miniscule crack.

There was the strangest sound, like tinder sucking in the flames.

She felt a blow to her whole body, a shockwave of rage and venom. She was pushed off her feet and there was the sensation of flying.

She landed in the grass with a phenomenal _smack_, bones in her borrowed body snapping and splintering on impact.

She cried out in pain, real physical actual pain, unable to comprehend what had happened. She could still see the knife pushing at Dean's chest, could still feel the release she needed in his death.

Now she could make out something bending over her. Two faces, peering into hers.

"You wanted her?" Sam asked genially. "You can have her."

"Hmm… Not sure if I want her now. Not exactly a think-on-her-feet kinda gal, is she?" said the other face.

"Little help," came a dry rasp from somewhere almost out of earshot. "Been stabbed here, dude…"

"Oh, yeah!" Sam said quickly, his face disappearing. The other remained.

"On the other hand," it said quietly.

The deep purple eyes and incredibly smooth skin of the face reminded the demon of something, but she had no idea what. The pain was unbearable, blanking out her ability to think or make coherent noises.

"You're free to do what you want, sir. I have to see to my brother," came Sam's voice, floating over the wind.

"That I know, boy," the face replied warmly. "Hey darlin'," he added, now to her, his kind, masculine face masking something that was beginning to look familiar to her. "Let's blow this pop-stand, shall we?"

She wailed and screamed in agony as he put his hands under her neck and back, lifting her from the ground smartly as if she weighed nothing. He whirled them around, and she saw Sam bending over the fallen Dean.

_I hope his fall shattered every bone in his body,_ she fumed. _I have to get help._

"Hey, Winchester!" her captive called over.

"Yeah," Sam said quickly, turning to look at him from his knees.

"Nicely done, son. Once again, I'm much obliged."

"No problem, sir. _Really_," he smiled.

"Aw shit," the purple eyed man, tall and strong, grinned at Sam. "No need to call me sir. You just gave me two things what I always wanted. So looks like I got me eternity to play with this young thing, and to pay you back." He paused. "Speaking o' which, I got me an errand to run."

Wind whipped around them abruptly and Sam covered his eyes to protect them from leaves and flying dust. He heard Dean cough and bent over him, holding his jacket over him quickly to shield him.

And suddenly, as if it had never been, everything of noise and movement was gone.

Sam let his arm drop, his jacket fall, and sat back in the grass, looking around.

No demon. No man. Just grass, cold air, steaming breath, and the sound of his brother's rough breathing in the grass.

"_Wooooo-hoooooooo!_" Sam hollered suddenly, punching both hands in the air. He turned quickly to his brother. "Dean! Dean!"

"I'm not deaf, man!" Dean protested. "What the freaky-ass son of a bitch _in Hell_ is going on?" He put his hands out to the grass, pushing himself up to sit.

Sam grabbed him and helped him to sit up, noticing his brother seemed perfectly fine, bone-wise. He threw his arms round him and _shouted_ as if the entire world had a right to hear him.

"Dude, the not being deaf thing? Were you here for that newsflash?" Dean wheezed, pushing Sam away from him smartly. "And I _am_ kinda bleeding to death here—"

"You were never stabbed!" Sam cried happily, rolling to his feet and bending over, pulling Dean up by his jacket to stand.

"Whut?"

"You were never stabbed! Check it!" he cried excitedly.

Dean put his hands to his breastbone, certain of the pain and stinging he'd felt. He pulled at the edges of the jacket and shirt, his fingers questing over the warm cotton of a rumpled t-shirt. His dad's favourite Led Zeppelin t-shirt he'd put on especially that morning.

Dry. Smooth. Complete. No holes, punctures or rents. Free of blood, rips or tears.

"Well I'll be—" he began, then thought better of it. Then he looked up at Sam. "So what was that all about?"

"It was so simple!" Sam shouted with energy and joy. "Check again, man! What's missing?"

Dean ran his hands over his chest slowly, hoping he hadn't just donated any bones to Hell – or anywhere that let in purple-eyed cowboy dudes that cavorted with demonic ladies, either. Then he gasped.

"My amulet?" he asked, confused. "Bitch took my amulet?" He looked around his feet in the grass quickly, hoping to find it.

"She _stabbed_ your amulet! I needed her to snap it open! Only a demon with the knife _I_ supplied could have done it!"

Dean stopped searching round his muddy biker boots and stared at him.

"Either you're the freakiest freak that ever boogied round danger like frosty-assed solid-gold dancer, or you're actually about to make sense," Dean said. His eyes were snapping with enthusiasm and eagerness, waiting for something for which he dared not hope. It made Sam grin. "Tell me what monumental thing it was that you just made happen here, Sammy."

"I couldn't get you off your deal – so I changed the ownership," Sam blurted. "I changed the ownership!"

"To Purple Eyed Dude?" Dean asked, then ran his hands through his hair, hissing some expletive angrily. "You idiot! So what do we do when he comes collecting? How long's left on it anyway? Five minutes?"

Sam shook his head. "Do you even know who he is?" he demanded, trying not to laugh.

"No! Explain it to me!"

"Where did you get that amulet?" he grinned, his relief and excitement palpable.

"You!"

"And where did I get it?"

"Bobby!"

"And why would Bobby have given it to me?"

"Cos he felt sorry for your pathetic face!" Dean cried, frustrated. "Stop with the round of _Jeopardy_ and just gimme a straight answer!"

Sam sighed, putting his hands on his hips and looking at his feet for a long moment. He turned around in the grass, looking up at the sky leisurely.

Dean made himself calm down enough to shrug off his jacket, pulling his t-shirt straight and patting at his chest, uncomfortable without the reassuring occasional nudge of the amulet. He rubbed at the now lonely area of his t-shirt, disquiet and vulnerability written on his face.

"Right. You asked for it," Sam said slowly, turning to look at Dean. He had to admit, he hadn't seen such confidence written on his younger brother's face in a long time.

"Go on," he said warily, letting his hand drop.

"Bobby gave me that cos I said I was looking for something to protect Dad. Dad didn't show, I did a little thinking, I realised that, truth be told, you'd done as much protecting as he ever had. Sometimes… sometimes more. Maybe not always physically protecting me, but… just being around all the time, looking out for me, breaking me into this whole truth-about-hunting thing gently, or—"

"Dude, sometime tonight," Dean sighed, wiping his face, and Sam smiled.

"Fine. Bobby had said that the amulet would protect the wearer. He said that if they wore it, it would get used to its owner and look after them. I was young and I believed him – he was older, wiser, and knew he was talking shit, but hey, what did I know?"

"Fair enough," Dean shrugged.

"And then one day, last week, I was wide awake thinking about those times. All those times you'd been hurt or that semi taking out the Impala and you almost being killed… And it kinda made me think – not very good at looking after you, was it? I was so sick of poring over the same information, trying to find a way out of your deal, that I got online and looked up the figure on the end."

"And?" Dean asked, watching his brother carefully.

"And… and I found out something very interesting."

"Which was?"

"Which was… those amulets are made from these big-ass pieces of rock, originally. Yours is – was – a chunk of rock sealed in brass."

"And?"

"And the rock was used to… If you believe in legend—"

"Which we normally do—"

"—the rock was used as a prison, or sometimes hiding place, for naughty Zoroastrian gods."

Dean's mind whirled. "You let the genie out the bottle?" he dared.

"I let the genie out the bottle," he confirmed smugly. "For a small fee, of course," he added, with just enough suave arrogance to make Dean believe they were actually brothers after all. Dean just stared at him, stunned.

"So not only did you find out that I've been carrying round some tiny Zoroastrian dude on a length of cord for like sixteen years, but you _then_ found a way to offer him a bail deal, _and then_ got him out?" he gaped.

The two brothers stared at each other.

"Er… yeah, looks like I did," Sam grinned quietly, radiating a kind of satisfaction that his older sibling really could not begrudge him.

It was silent for a long moment. "So… he pre-dates all of our crowd by like… well, he's older, right?" Dean asked, unsure. "More powerful?"

"Not really sure how much more powerful, but yeah, he's got a couple of thousand years on these guys. We're talking how people were coming round to recognising the difference between Good and Evil in the first place. So yeah, he's been to the puppet show and he's seen the strings. If anyone knows how to collect a contract, it's going to be him."

"So… what, are we some Zoroastrian god's bitches now?" Dean dared.

Sam looked at him, his eyes shining. "Oh no. That's the best bit – he's _ours_!" he laughed.

"Yikes. Rephrase that," he instructed flatly, turning away from his brother as he pulled his black jacket back on against the suddenly chilly night air. Suddenly the jacket felt more snug, more comforting, than it had.

"How about: he still owes us one favour," Sam said smoothly. Dean looked back round at him.

"How do you work that one out?"

"Because," Sam said, "_my_ deal was that I let him out for eternity – in exchange for him collecting a certain contract and taking it on. And I said he could have whatever pretty lady turned up to collect you. He liked that idea."

"She's a _demon_, Sam! She'll tear him a new one in under two minutes and be back here to—"

"Excuse me, boys," said a voice.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

"You sure about that, son?" continued the voice from behind Dean. He turned quickly, Sam dodging round him to see. "Hey there," the tall, lean, purple-eyed man said genially.

"Uh… hey," Dean offered. "Thought you'd be a demon." Sam nudged him in annoyance. "Sorry."

"No sweat. Just glad to disappoint you is all." He paused, looking him up and down, and the boys stared back him.

Dean noticed his large brown boots under heavy, used jeans. His two pale t-shirts under the red shirt made him look warm in the cooling night air. He appeared to have heavy brown hair, cut short but swinging rakishly over his eyes. Eyes that were pulsing bright purple with their own light.

"So. You're the one this little guy did it all for, huh?" the handsome stranger smiled.

"Yes sir," Dean said smartly.

"Hoo-wee, but he's a clever one, I'll give him that," he grinned, winking at Sam. Sam just smiled back at him.

"Thanks for everything," he said lamely.

"Naw, don't do that," he said, waving a hand at him. "Tell the truth boys, I been stuck places I don't want to be so long, I forget maself. Really should have got back here quicker with this for you, but couldn't leave the lovely lady waitin' around, 'specially since that New Beast On The Block makes work for idle hands." He pulled something from his pocket, looking suspiciously like a crumpled piece of paper. He lifted a huge Zippo lighter and snapped it open, setting the corner alight deftly.

"That's my contract?" Dean managed, watching it go up in flames. He noticed the fire licked up around the man's fingers, but veered away from his skin as if afraid of what might happen if it dared touch it.

"Yup," he nodded brightly.

"Wow. Didn't think it'd actually be on paper somewhere," Dean muttered to himself.

"Well strictly speaking, it weren't. Had to impose on a few black-eyed sons of bitches to jot it down for me, all legal-like," the man nodded cheerfully, and the Winchesters exchanged a glance. "So, you two got any questions?"

"Hundreds," Dean said suddenly.

"Shoot, son. I got me all eternity now," the man grinned in delight. Dean let his eyebrows raise, then nodded politely.

"You ah… you been a Texas boy for a while?"

"Oh, the meat suit?" the man smiled. "All I could get at short notice. Think I'm growing to like it."

"Why this field?"

"This was where I was trapped by… some double-crossing fellas as didn't like me all that much," he sighed. "Long time ago now. I remember when all this was straw huts and grass skirts. Hmm… them grass skirts," he sighed to himself.

Dean let himself smirk, then wiped it off. "And, forgive me for asking, but why were you 'trapped' in the first place?" he asked.

"Dean," Sam hissed in reproach, but the man lifted a hand.

"No, no, man deserves to know," he said easily. "My time was limited, son. I tell you, there were so many faiths and religions, gods and deities swimming 'round, I'm surprised I made it that long. Honestly, I was thinking of packing the whole gig in and moving on, perhaps take a look round some other plane. Never could be sure which way the wind was blowing, though. Damn me if them people didn't make some kind o' pact wi' some new-religion-new-wave-new-_some_thing black-eyed hawker. Next thing I know, I'm staring at the inside of a pen with no hope of parole!" he admitted, gritting perfect white teeth that gleamed in the moonlight. "All I ever asked for was a bit of belief, a bit of faith that I would protect the people I said I would, and a bright-eyed tigress in my sack every now and again, y'know?"

"Amen to _that_," Dean agreed, and the man chuckled unexpectedly. He walked over, putting a hand on Dean's shorter shoulder.

"How old are you meant to be, son?"

"Ah… twen—"

"Cos you got a soul nearly as old as mine." He patted suddenly, and Dean stared into his large purple eyes, unsure which man was the more curious – or fascinated. "I've seen the things you've done, I've watched the pair of you grow up. 'Way you boys go at everything like a storm over the plains? Makes me wish I were a coupla thousand years younger. I coulda got into this gig, gents. I could have enjoyed rounding up them black-eyed miscreants with one hand."

He let his hand fall, but Dean was still staring at him with some faint feeling of recognition.

"Well you know, we could use some help sometimes," Sam put in from behind his older brother, unaware of Dean's searching of the being's face.

"Aw no, that's for young things like you. You got one year, hoss," the man said, poking at Dean's chest with a long, bony finger. "One year o' good luck, good health and good times. After that, you gotta make it yourself, know what I mean?"

"Yes sir, I think I do," Dean smiled, and the man winked.

"Good boy. You show them purdy young things a helluva good time, y'hear?" he grinned, slapping his hand to Dean's arm.

"I'll do my best," he grinned.

The man realised Sam was looking at him with less than a cheerful smile and cleared his throat. "Oh and ah… see if you can't clear up a few of them evil shades o' the Bad Fire, too," he said seriously.

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I will," Dean nodded quickly.

"So, Winchester," he said, looking at Sam. "Thanks for settin' me free an' all. Must have been a bitch remembering all that ancient mumbo-jumbo like that. Least you said it right, huh? Remember, I still got one favour I owe you. You need me, you holler and I'll set it straight for you."

"Yes sir," Sam smiled.

"Take it easy, kid," he winked at Sam. "See y'round, hoss," he nodded at Dean, then turned his back to walk away.

"Hey! Ah… What's your name?" Dean called after him.

"Does it matter?" he asked, turning slightly to look back at the two boys.

"Well… no," Dean shrugged.

The man smiled, his bright purple eyes shining under the clear moon.

"In a word you'd have a chance at understandin'? Mithra," he nodded. "Now go relax. You look more beat than me."

He turned and walked off, the mist closing round him until he was well and truly gone.

Dean just stared after him, then shook his head and turned. He took a deep breath and Sam dropped a hand on his shoulder.

"So… Food?" he asked.

"Food," Dean confirmed, apparently past caring.

They started to walk back to the car, each lost in thought. Sam let go of Dean's shoulder to walk away round the other side of the Impala. He stumbled in some hole in the grass and without thinking, Dean reached out and grabbed his arm. He steadied him, muttering something Sam didn't catch.

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said don't go ass over tit again," Dean said more clearly. Then he stopped, looking at Sam clearly. He looked at his own hand, clamped round Sam's upper arm, then at the Impala and around slowly.

"What?" Sam asked quietly.

The look on Dean's face was a sudden hefty dose of nostalgia: abruptly, Sam was reminded of the day their father had told his oldest son that if he so much as scuffed the chrome on a fender of his beloved Impala he'd stake his entrails to the Kansas state sign. It had taken Dean all of a minute to realise what John was trying to tell him: that he was now the official owner/driver of the one thing he had coveted since he'd heard it rumble into the driveway, way back before he could walk without Mary holding him up.

His face mirrored that complete scenario from their history, and it was all Sam could do just to drink it in and be happy.

Dean stared into thin air for a long minute, eyebrows raised and quirked in that confused way he had, eyes bright with the steam coming from the cogs in his brain. His jaw had come slightly loose and he appeared to be staring in disbelief.

He let go of his brother slowly, then looked up at him.

"This has been… the weirdest… longest night of my life," he said ruefully, shaking his head. "Did we really just see that?"

"Oh come on, we've seen worse than that," Sam joked. "And lived to tell the tale."

"And lived to tell the tale… I'm still here," he swallowed. Sam just grinned, unable to think of any words. "I'm still here." He blinked at his brother in dawning comprehension. "You… You did all this."

"Yeah," Sam said heavily. "I did. I told you I wasn't letting you go down, Dean."

"Well yeah I know," Dean said quickly. "But… For a minute there… I thought… Well, like—"

"What?" Sam interrupted with a small smile. "You thought what?"

"Well… look, it don't matter right now, does—"

"No, go on," Sam smiled. "You thought what?"

Dean huffed. "Alright! You asked for it. For a moment I thought you'd flipped over to the Dark Side and actually wanted me dead. There. Happy?"

Sam just grinned.

"Oh ye of little faith, Dean. Had to make her relax. And be surprised enough when I tried to get a shot at her. How else could I get her to take the knife?"

"I take back everything I ever said about you being a dumbass," Dean sighed, shaking his head. "Instead I'm gonna start calling you an evil genius."

"Whatever works, dude," Sam grinned, shrugging with humility.

Dean snorted with amusement, then looked around slowly.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Just… just don't believe it just yet," Dean admitted. "When I wake up tomorrow and it's C-Day plus one, then I'll believe it."

"Fine. Does this mean we're not getting wasted tonight?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean spluttered indignantly. "Of course we are! Dude, we are gonna test the _very limits_ of barrel and bladder!" he grinned, putting his hands out to indicate bemusement. "The more Nurples, the merrier."

"Dude, even for you, more than twelve is impossible," Sam grinned.

"Really? Well we'll just do it anyway and add it to the list of impossible things you've done today, Sammy," he grinned.

"Fair enough," Sam chuckled, and they looked at each other. Dean's face fell slowly.

"Seriously. Thanks."

"Seriously, get in the car," Sam nodded. "I'm starving."

"Right you are, little brother, right you are," Dean grinned again, chuckling as he opened the door quickly, sliding into the seat.

Sam climbed in and closed the door soundly, looking over at his brother. He was rubbing his chest slowly, a look of abject discomfort on his face.

"What?" he asked warily.

"It's just… not right. Should be something there," he admitted gingerly, patting at the space where his amulet had always hung.

"Get a new one," Sam shrugged.

"Yeah," Dean allowed, unhappy.

He started the engine and the tape player came to life too. He turned it down and allowed himself the brief luxury of listening to the engine turn over, spreading reassurance and sunshine around the inside of the car. He ran a hand over the steering wheel slowly, shaking his head and grinning. Sam watched him, then let his face split into a grin.

"I'd give you two privacy if I could," he said, turning his head to look out of his window. He felt a stinging pain in the back of his head and realised he'd been slapped. He looked round at Dean in surprise. "What?"

"That's for engineering all this weird shit and not telling me," he said archly. "Don't you think you can just make up these Evil Masterplans all by yourself and have to _keep_ them to yourself again."

Sam put a slow hand up and rubbed the back of his head as Dean put the Impala into Reverse. He backed her out of the deep ruts in the muddy grass, turning her round and heading back onto the main road.

"You're welcome," Sam muttered.

Dean glanced at him before looking back at the road ahead.

"I swear, Sammy, the older we get, the weirder _you_ get," he sighed.

"Well you're still the older freak."

"Older don't make me more of a freak."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"And what makes you right?"

"I'm older."

"And more of a freak."

"But more of a man."

"Don't start!"

"Can't help it man, it's the hair."

"Shut up about my hair!"

"Ok… _Samantha_."

Sam reached over and pushed at his brother's shoulder. He just chuckled, then shot Sam a very amused look before turning his attention back to the road.

Sam sighed in resignation, then let himself smile. He found himself humming to the tape player, found that odd in itself, and reached over, turning it up to hear what it actually was.

A husky voice sang out. '_Did you hear the distant cry, calling me back to my sin?_'

Dean looked surprised, then grinned, opening his mouth and drowning out the singer with his own voice.

"_Like the one you knew before – calling me back once again. I nearly lost you there! And it's taken us somewhere! I nearly lost you there—_'

"Dean," Sam interrupted. He stopped short, looking at him.

"Whut?"

Sam grinned suddenly. "You know what? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Carry on."

"Seriously?" he blinked.

"Seriously."

"You asked for it," Dean shrugged. "You know the next song after this one is '_Dollar Bill_', right?"

"It doesn't matter," Sam shrugged. "Really, it doesn't matter. I think, considering what we've done tonight, we should just play your entire collection of mullet rock as loud as it'll go," he allowed.

"You know something?" Dean grinned.

"What?" Sam asked, slightly wary.

"You're an awesome brother too. –_Some_times," he added quickly.

Sam just laughed, and Dean took a deep breath, ready to join in the next verse coming from the tape player.

The moon shone on high, the dry road stretched out before them. The tail-lights headed into the darkness, eventually disappearing.

Mithra slid off the rickety wooden fence, taking the stalk of grass from his mouth and smiling.

"What a pair. Think I like 'em," he chuckled, then turned to the demon in curious-looking dark red chains behind him. "Now then, sweet thing," he said with a broad smile. "How's about we get us some pie and talk about your friends as stuck me where I was, huh?"

She swallowed nervously as he grinned from ear to ear.

"Love me some pie," he winked.

**THE END**

* * *

_**Thanks **to the amazing collating archive of obscura that is Wikipedia for facts and figures. A huge shedload of thanks and very, very warm appreciation goes to Steve Carlson. Without his secret words of Yoda-like wisdom during the thirty seconds I got with the man, I doubt I would have posted this. Thanks Mr C, and everyone who Beta'd for me. I love you all long time, baby! And Mr Kripke, please get Dean off his deal by 3.16! We're all counting on you, man!_


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